


Walking Backwards Into Hell

by Radenierafire



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Abusive Parents, Angst, Bad Parenting, Canon-Typical Violence, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Injury Recovery, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Not Beta Read, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, jaskier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-03
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:28:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27371197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Radenierafire/pseuds/Radenierafire
Summary: Geralt was hurt, so Jaskier took him somewhere safe. Sometimes the safest place to hide from god is hell, but so be it. His witcher needs to heal.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 48
Kudos: 168





	1. Walking Into Hell

**Author's Note:**

> I disappeared off the face of the earth for a bit. I'm back for just a moment. I tweeted a couple lines from a poem I wrote and someone asked for it to be turned into geraskier.
> 
> And, well . . . 
> 
> Who am I to disappoint? 
> 
> (As usual, any and all mistakes are mine because I'm a mediocre writer. If you see something, say something. XD Uh, and feel free to let me know if I am missing any tags. (We all know I'm the worst at remembering them. (Or if you see any that I can get rid of. Really, just lmk in any direction, I'll change it. I promise.)))

It was dark. The kind of dark that should have been unsettling, if Geralt were completely honest. Yes, normally, if Geralt had woken up in a dark room uncertain of what led to his getting there, he would probably have been riled by the circumstance. However, there was something pleasantly calming about this room. Something that brought Geralt peace. It took him embarrassingly long to realize that that something was how the whole room smelled like Jaskier. A cleaner, sharper, version, but Jaskier nonetheless. Geralt pushed himself up and realized that he’d been laying down on a bed made up with very fine linens and plush pillows. He frowned and looked around in the dark.

Hmm. 

Geralt sat on the bed to look around, taking in the room in its entirety. It was wide, open, and framed with more windows than Geralt could possibly see as necessary. Luckily for him, they were all covered by expensive drapes which were drawn shut. The walls were tall and lined with these large columns. In between the columns nearest to the door was a large desk, unkempt and covered in papers. Near the desk were a couple of seats, all facing each other. They looked well worn and comfortable and Geralt could imagine groups of young friends sitting around and discussing their studies fervently. This image was only encouraged by the fact that on the other side of the desk and lounging areas, there were several bookshelves lining the walls. 

They stood tall, all the way to the ceiling and there was a ladder propped up against the one nearest to the bed that was obviously used to reach even the highest shelves. Clearly this library was not for decoration. Though it was still dim in the room, Geralt looked over the book binds and read some of the titles. He recognized some of the covers, old history books, and maps of the continent. However, there didn’t quite seem to be any organization to the order of the books. Still, he continued scanning the shelves and realized that at least one of the bookshelves was covered from ceiling to floor in music books and sheets of notation. 

If the smell hadn’t been enough to tip Geralt off, he would have had to have noticed now that this room must belong to Jaskier. Still, it did not make sense to him. How did he end up here? He pushed himself to the edge of the bed and swung his legs down. He was sore and he felt a sharp pain in his knee, but his curiosity momentarily distracted him. He grabbed the edge of the bed frame and stood to climb out of the bed. However, when he took a step forward. He stumbled immediately as a debilitating pain shot up his spine. He caught himself on that same part of the bed frame and looked down at his leg only to see the state that his knee was in. 

What the fuck happened?

Geralt pushed himself back to standing up and carefully settled back into his seat on the bed. He closed his eyes and took a few breaths to try and push the pain from his mind. Only then did he open them again, and look around. Despite the familiarity of the room, Geralt realized that he was sitting here in a very vulnerable state and fought to compose himself. Now was not the time to let panic steal his focus and stow it out of reach. He needed to make a plan. Figure out how to find Jaskier, and whether or not he needed to get them out of this place. He started to search the dark corners of the room for his things. 

As soon as the thought had entered his head, the door opened. It flooded the room with a cold light and Geralt snarled slightly. He realized now that he was grateful for the darkness of the room, as the light felt like a physical offense. Even though he had just refound his awkward seat on the bed, Geralt braced himself and stood again, ready for a fight. However, when the door closed and the light dimmed once more, Geralt noticed that the man walking through the door was a friend not a foe, “Jaskier.” He breathed quietly. The bard had been carrying a plate of plain breads and fruit, and a pitcher of water. Geralt concluded that this was why he’d opened the door so widely to get in. 

When Jaskier looked up from his arms where the sustenance was precariously balanced, and a grin broke out over his face. “Geralt!”

The witcher winced at the volume. Yet, even the intensity of Jaskier’s voice could not prevent a small thankful smile from Geralt’s face. He took in the bard’s appearance and made certain that Jaskier was whole and uninjured. He was comforted by the room, but he was not put at such ease that he would be ignorant. 

Jaskier took the silence as an opportunity to explain. Though, this time when he spoke he kept his voice quiet. “You were rather toxic,” He started, “and I wasn’t sure how you would do when you woke. So, the lights have been kept dimmed and no one is allowed to come near this room let alone make any loud noises nearby,” he breathed. “Um,” Jaskier hummed, racking his brain for what information was most pertinent for Geralt to be told. “I’ve also taken the liberty of grabbing some food for you, bread mostly but also some grapes and such, not too ripe but not sour. Rather bland, but I know how you are with your avid protest against seasonings.” He set the food and water down on the bedside table, and stepped up to Geralt. It seemed as though he wanted to keep ranting about Geralt’s cooking habits, but he must have thought better of it, because instead he fell quiet for a few moments. He gently placed one hand on Geralt’s shoulder and the other on Geralt’s elbow, redirecting him to sit back down on the bed. “You don’t need to be up and moving yet, alright?” He said quietly. 

“Hmm,” He mumbled, still distracted by his efforts to verify Jaskier’s health and safety. He was sat back down, and he went willingly, but his hand slipped forward and smoothed down Jaskier’s chest. 

Jaskier smiled knowingly, but made no comment about the need for physical reassurance. “Yes,” Jaskier laughed quietly. Despite his fond smile, and quiet laughter, he seemed a bit exasperated. “Uh huh, ‘Hmm.’ So long as that ‘Hmm’ means, ‘of course, Jaskier, I will listen to you and take it easy for my healing and your sanity.’ If that ‘Hmm’ means anything else, shove it back into your throat and stick to your silent ways.” Jaskier demanded simply. He stepped back up to the bedside table and grabbed the pitcher, pouring Geralt a drink of water. He didn’t yet hold the cup out as he returned the favor and looked over Geralt’s person.

“Hmm,” Geralt repeated, a small amused smile on his face. Now that he had Jaskier here, Geralt was able to succumb to the rooms inherently settling atmosphere. “Of course.” He teased softly.

Jaskier rolled his eyes and shook his head, “You seem rather chipper for a witcher who woke up in unknown territory by himself, and without the use of one of his limbs.”

“I’d hardly call this a territory, and it’s still attached. I could use it, if I needed to.” Geralt responded easily. 

Jaskier mock-glared at him, “You had better not lest you’d like for me to take if from you.” He threatened. Still, Geralt’s fond smile was unwavering. It smoothed the frown from Jaskier’s face and his finger’s thrummed against the glass in his hand. “You seem calm.”

Geralt thought about it for a moment before nodding, “I suppose I am.”

The admission raised Jaskier’s brows. “Aren’t you supposed to be vehemently suspicious and wary of the world?” He asked.

“I am,” Geralt repeated.

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, “Yet, I’ve brought you here and you have not even prompted me for answers to satiate your inherent distrust.” He tilted his head, observing Geralt as though Geralt were one of the many books on the shelves. As though studying Geralt long enough might make Jaskier an expert on the topic. “If anyone else had brought us here unwillingly I suspect you’d behead them for the inconvenience,” Jaskier teased gently. 

“Well, yes.” Geralt admitted. “But, you brought me here.”

Jaskier stared at Geralt carefully, tilting his head slightly. “What does that mean . . .?” He inquired, finally shifting forward and handing Geralt the water. 

Geralt accepted the cup easily. “I trust you.”

His eyes widened just slightly and he had to look away from Geralt. “Oh . . . alright, then.” For a moment the room was silent, save for the sound of Geralt taking a drink of his water. Then, Jaskier broke the silence with a somewhat cheeky retort. “If you’re so settled, I suppose I needn’t explain anything else to you then.”

“Don’t push it.”

Jaskier put a hand to his own forehead and sighed rather panoramically, “Yes, there. The truth comes out now, doesn’t it. All your sappy words and sentiments, but when faced with the test of dependence-” Jaskier started to rant with a production-like air of distress, clearly very put upon by Geralt’s need for more information.

“Jaskier.” Geralt sighed. No dramatization to his distress was necessary.

Jaskier’s hand slipped back to his hip and he smirked,“Right, yeah, Sorry,” He said. “Do you remember the hunt you were on?” He asked.

Geralt had to think, he remembered some of the things leading up to it. A small town they’d stopped in had put up a contract on a wolf-like creature in the woods. They’d correctly assumed it was a werewolf, but they didn’t know who in the town it was. Apparently it had been around for a while, but recently it seemed to have gotten greedy. Where it had been surviving mostly on cattle and other forest animals, in the recent days it had started going after bigger flocks. They claimed that it had even hurt a couple kids playing near the woods. 

Geralt remembered a young woman begging him to move on from the town, offering to pay him for the contract if he would just leave the wolf alone. Unfortunately, he also remembered having to explain to the woman that it was not just a wolf. An explanation she’d been so unhappy with that she’d thrown her drink at him. It had made Jaskier laugh at him for being so oblivious. Jaskier had explained that clearly the woman was in love with the werewolf, and Geralt had just insulted her and him both. Even more unfortunately, Geralt also remembered Jaskier waxing poetic about the circumstances, claiming that he needed to write a ballad about a young woman who was madly in love with a monster. 

Geralt remembered how all of this had seemed very reminiscent of a contract from long before he travelled with Jaskier. One that hadn’t had the audience present to be turned into a dramatic tale.

Then, he recalled tracking down the den. “Werewolf. Lived on the edge of town . . . I recall going there. I don’t remember what happened after that.” He explained. 

Jaskier hummed quietly and stood up, fluttering about the room to make sure the drapes were closed and the door was locked and such. “The young woman,” He said, “Turns out, I was mostly right- She was in love with the man, well, the werewolf.” Jaskier explained. He pulled one of the seats nearer to the bed and deflated some into it. “It just so happened that she was also afflicted with the disease.” Jaskier described with a woeful hum. “Truthfully, I am not certain of all that happened during the fight, but it would seem that you were slightly caught off guard by the presence of not one but two of the beasts. When I found you, you were hardly breathing and the bottom of your leg was attached to the top by only a few strands of your knee. It was all rather gruesome.” 

There was this unbothered air to Jaskier’s tone, but Geralt noticed the way that Jaskier’s fingers grasped and let go of the fabric of his trousers. The nervous clutching drove Geralt to reach out and catch one of Jaskier’s hands. “I’m alright,” he promised. 

“Yes, well. Now you are.” Jaskier huffed.

Geralt’s small smile grew to be a bit wider. 

The bard persisted, “Regardless. When you were gone too long I went after you-” Jaskier interrupted himself, seeing the look that Geralt was already giving him, “I know, don’t bother with your lecture-” He stated evenly and pulled his hand from Geralt’s. Geralt folded his hands up in his lap. “When I found you . . . well. You weren’t doing well. So, I picked you up-”

“What?” Geralt interrupted again.

Jaskier arched a brow, “What, what?” He huffed, unimpressed by yet another obtrusion to his story.

Geralt looked Jaskier over and shook his head, “You lifted me?”

“Of course, I did, Geralt. I trail after you for a living, I can lift up a sack of potatoes, and you are quite similar to one of those, you know.” He snarked and then shook his head. “Anyway, so, I picked you up and I carried you to the nearest inn. Well, the care there was atrocious and apparently you hadn’t made any friends killing that young woman regardless of whether or not she was also a werewolf, so I had to get you out of there.” Jaskier explained.

Geralt narrowed his eyes, “We aren’t still in that town?”

“No.” Jaskier hummed, looking away. 

Again, the nervous clutching began and Geralt frowned, “Where are we?”

“Somewhere safe, rest assured.” Jaskier promised, with a false enthusiasm. 

“Jaskier.” 

“You know, you use my name rather a lot and it’s rarely in a pleasant way.” Jaskier noted. “It’s always this stern, annoyed, ‘Jaskier.’ Never a fond, ‘Jaskier.’ Hell, I’d even take a breathy ‘Oh, Jaskier’ if you wanted to-” The look Geralt sent him served as more than enough to silent him. “Alright, alright. We are in Lettenhove.” Jaskier shrugged. 

The amusement and peace that Geralt had been feeling rushed from him at that. He sat up a bit straighter and looked towards the door as though suddenly ready to put himself between any Jaskier and any threat that may enter. “Lettenhove.” He said cooly. 

Jaskier nodded some, “Yes.” He admitted. “It was the closest city and I needed to get you to a healer. Of course, the moment I stepped foot here we had an escort and clear directions to where you would be doing your healing . . . I wasn’t going to fight it. After all, I’m not going to put you in jeopardy just because he is here-”

Geralt’s suspicion only grew stronger, and he growled lowly. “He’s here-”

“No!” Jaskier hurried to assure. “Well, no. Not currently. He went on a hunt with some friends this weekend.” There was a pause, and then Jaskier reluctantly continued. “But he’ll be back any time now. He was to return tonight.” Jaskier admitted.

They rarely spoke of Jaskier’s father, but Geralt knew enough. He recognized the signs in Jaskier’s behavior, had witnessed the scars that Jaskier was usually so careful to keep hidden. “You shouldn’t have brought me here.” Geralt snapped. 

Jaskier blinked almost dumbly at the sudden anger. The more timid tone of Jaskier’s voice dissipated at the criticism in Geralt’s. He huffed and his chest puffed up as he shook his head, “I didn’t have the time.” He stated evenly, attempting to leave no room for argument.

“I’m tough, you know that, I could have lasted-” Geralt argued anyway, shifting forward on the edge of the bed. 

“You couldn’t even open your eyes.” Jaskier snapped back. “I’m not saying you aren’t ‘tough’, I don’t give a fuck how ‘tough’ you are. You were hurt. I was going to see to it that you got help!”

The witcher shook his head, “I would have been fine-” He started again.

“Stop it,” Jaskier interrupted, frustrated with the redundancy. If they were just going to go round in circles this would be exhausting. “We’re here now.” Jaskier breathed, trying to settle the argument. 

Geralt merely snarled. “We shouldn’t be,” He said, glaring at the door.

“I didn’t know what else to do!” Jaskier finally admitted. “I told you-”

“Fucking throw me over, Roach! Take off toward the next nearest town and- I don’t know, pray! Don’t put yourself in a compromising position simply because I am injured.” It was as adamant as Jaskier had ever seen Geralt. 

Despite his exasperation, or perhaps because of it, Jaskier simply matched the resolution instead of taking a moment to be impressed by it. “Don’t be daft, Geralt! You know damn well that I would walk backwards into hell if it meant I could keep a watchful eye on the gods. I know these fires and every way they can burn me, but I will never trust those frauds with your wellbeing.”

Geralt wanted to argue . . . but he knew it was true. Both that Jaskier would always choose to take care of Geralt, and that the gods were rarely reliable in the situations in which it mattered. He huffed and finally sagged against the side of the bed frame. “I- alright.” He assented. “We’re leaving as soon as I can walk, though.” He stated. Better they left quickly so that he had less opportunity to strangle Jaskier’s father. 

Jaskier hummed and shoved the plate of food forward, “Splendid, just one last thing.” He said, a winning grin shoving its way back onto his face.

Geralt couldn’t help but think about how natural it seemed to fit Jaskier’s face that a smile should be there at all times. “Hmm?”

“We’re having dinner with my parents tonight and they think we’re married.” Jaskier said and then jumped up to go to the closet, eagerly looking for appropriate clothes for Geralt to wear to the meal.

“Fuck.”


	2. Chatting With The Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I am once again asking for help with tags? I've tried to tag everything I can think of, but in instances of harsh conversation between characters I don't want to leave out anything that someone might want to avoid. So if there is anything that pops up that I've neglected to tag properly? Please let me know!
> 
> Also thanks for reading! You guys often leave me really nice comments and I appreciate it so much. It definitely helps me sit down and get more story out for you all.

Why the fuck where there so many spoons? And what the fuck were they all used for?

Geralt hadn’t the faintest of clues if he was doing the right things here, but he was trying. For the most part, anyway. Jaskier had dressed him up in fancy clothes, and he felt a bit like a doll a child might play with. His sleeves were too tight and his collar was too high, buttoned on in a fashion similar to his trickiest armor. He was certain he looked ridiculous, the way that Jaskier had braided his hair back and fashioned it in a bun low at the back of his neck. 

He’d also gotten a brief rundown on the rules. What to say, what not to say. Geralt found himself sitting there in silence, rather worried that he’d break this rule the moment he opened his mouth. He would have used the food as a distraction, but the second rule set regarded when they ate what and how. Geralt had never before been so aware of the order and appearance of his meal. He was far more used to simply capturing whatever was available and doing his best. They might not have been proper meals, but they were food.

When Jaskier explained when Geralt was allowed to look the Viscount in the eye, and when he was supposed to keep his gaze lowered, the witcher had had a difficult time keeping his exasperation off of his face. Jaskier clarified that Geralt’s head should be kept down especially when his expression looked like that. 

It was exhausting, and Gerallt probably wouldn’t have followed any of this noble bullshit if it weren’t for the way that Jaskier’s heartbeat was matching pace with his most upbeat jig. They were seated at a table that was just on the side of too large for the viscount and his wife. Jaskier was next to Geralt, sitting between his ‘husband’ and his father. Geralt would have been able to hear Jaskier’s heart either way, but especially considering how close they were, he able to hear the racing beat. It was hard to miss when the drum was so undeniably stressed. 

Still, Jaskier was keeping an even facade, careful not to betray his worry. His hands moved delicately and he listened to his mother discuss his younger sister’s future. Though Jaskier kept his gaze away from his father’s face for the most part, Geralt could hear how Jaskier grew more worried each time his father shifted or cleared his throat. Whether that worry was aimed towards what his father would say or do, or towards what Geralt might say or do, Geralt wasn’t sure. 

Jaskier had spoken to Geralt when they got ready together. From across the room where Jaskier was pulling on a chemise, he cleared his throat. “You . . . can’t hurt him.” He admitted softly, glancing over to where Geralt was finicking with the many laces and buttons of his own attire. Jaskier could have laughed at the concentration on Geralt’s face as he messed with the fittings in the mirror. Could have, but didn’t. He was just slightly too nervous to laugh at something so frivolous. “I mean, obviously you are able to . . . but don’t. Please.” Jaskier kept his expression guarded.

Without thinking Geralt growled lowly, eyes flicking from the mirror to Jaskier’s face. “Don’t ask me that.” He said. However, when he saw the careful shield Jaskier had constructed on his face, Geralt tried to pass his frustration off as an aggravation with the unnecessary complexity of his shirt. “You can’t ask that of me.”

The bard sighed and walked over. Of course Jaskier saw through Geralt’s cover, but he reached out anyway and gently fastened the collar of his shirt. “I have to.” He admitted. “I know how you feel about him. Believe me, he’s not my favorite person either. However, so long as we are in Lettenhove, he has power over us.” Jaskier was reluctant to admit it and knew that Geralt would be reluctant to accept it. However, he was worried that this might not be a situation they could fight themselves out of. It certainly wasn’t one that Jaskier wanted to fight their way out of. Not when Geralt’s knee was still healing and they would need to leave town completely, should things go poorly. “I need you, safe.” Jaskier breathed and smoothed the collar for good measure. “I need you to have this place here to heal.”

Geralt caught Jaskier’s wrist and shook his head, “I will be fine,” He muttered. “If he starts to say something-”

“You will bite your tongue and glare into your supper.” Jaskier requested. It was clear that Jaskier was trying not to turn this into a demand, despite how badly he wanted to. “Please, Geralt. Take his cruelty in stride so that we can walk out of here all the sooner.”

Despite himself, he nodded reluctantly and released Jaskier’s wrist. Geralt was certain that Jaskier knew there was a limit. He trusted that Jaskier knew that Geralt’s grace only stretched so far. However, he made the silent promise to stretch it as thinly as possible.

Jaskier smiled softly and returned the nod just slightly. “Thank you,” he mumbled, and then turned back to his clothes to finish dressing himself.

It was that request that pushed patience into Geralt’s mind and forced it to stay there. A patience Geralt still believed to be wasted on such a vile man. After all, where was the same patience, understanding, and diplomacy when Jaskier was growing up? Why was this man shown such mercy when he’d had none to spare for his own son? Geralt didn’t know much, but he was well aware that Alfred had none such kindness to show Jaskier.

Jaskier was incredibly expressive, he shared much of his heart and spoke constantly about his opinions on trivial things. However, there were still things he was hesitant to discuss. There were topics that Geralt would mention that had Jaskier pausing, laughing sadly, and changing the subject to how romantic a clear night’s sky was. Geralt was not oblivious to the fact that Jaskier’s life at home was one of those things. Here and there Geralt picked up bits and pieces of Jaskier’s old life. 

Sometimes Jaskier would be in a particularly good mood and refer to the things that were good. Jaskier spoke fondly of old loves, telling Geralt of the blacksmith that had won his heart when he was a boy or of the young maiden that had taught him how to braid. (And then taught him some other things.) When Jaskier was a bit drunk he would speak of his younger sister. She was so bright and he had such hope for her. Occasionally these mentions would turn into a rant about the fairness, or lack thereof to the expectations put on young women. Jaskier’s fond ramblings would become adamant arguments about how much potential women had to be so much more than they were often allowed to be by the confines of polite society. Such rousing debates would remind Jaskier of his studies. If Geralt was lucky Jaskier would grow distracted and start reminiscing about school before he found the nearest sexist man and tried to gut him. Jaskier would speak of how learning had excited him and how his classes and studies, even at home, often left him hopeful. He’d always wanted more, always desired adventure, but his childhood was not completely cold and boring.

Still. If Geralt prompted any further information about Jaskier’s family or home town, Jaskier would often fall quiet and then change the subject. Any direct mention of Alfred left Jaskier completely silent with no interest in speaking much at all. Which was why it was only by the grace of Jaskier’s kindness that Geralt sat there, holding his tongue and keeping his knife to himself. 

A grace, it seemed, Jaskier’s father was willing to test. “Witcher,” Alfred started, his tone cheery though his expression was cold and disinterested. “I trust you’ve been healing well in our care?” He asked.

Geralt arched a brow ever so slightly and looked up at the man. He tried to keep his disgust off his face as he nodded curtly. His eyes flicked to Jaskier who was watching him carefully. There was that same silent plea in his face. 

_ Please, don’t. _

Geralt pushed a small smile onto his face, trying to seem as respectful as possible. 

Alfred observed them and hummed, returning his attention to his dinner. He cut through a potato and took a bite, letting the silence ring for a few more moments. “Man of few words,” He finally said, after swallowing his bite. “So unlike our little Julian.”

Geralt grit his teeth, but the smile stayed. 

It would seem the discomfort amused Alfred, based on the way he smirked and looked Geralt up and down. “I can see why you like him,” He said, clearly speaking to Jaskier despite his disinclination to show Jaskier any sort of attention. “He does not take up any of your- hm, ‘stage time’ with his own words.” Alfred sneered quietly and laughed. Again, he turned his attention to his plate. “You can be as much as an attention whore as you’d like, as constantly as you’d like.” Alfred hummed. 

The feigned impartiality grated on Geralt’s nerves, but seemed to have no effect on Jaskier. The nerves were obviously still there, but this, at least, seemed to be familiar territory. 

“Though, truthfully,” Alfred continued, “I’m not sure why you, witcher, would tie yourself to a man like my son.” It was said in a thoughtful manner, as though Alfred’s greatest concern was Geralt’s happiness and wellbeing. 

The dig spurred a jump in Jaskier’s heartrate and Geralt’s grip on one of the stupid spoons tightened to the point of bending it. 

Jaskier cut in, slipping his hand over Geralt’s in an attempt to look affectionate and to hide the nearly broken utensil. “I’m rather lucky, aren’t I?” He said with a small smile. 

It was as close to timid as Geralt was certain he’d ever seen Jaskier look. He subtly set the spoon down and turned his hand face up, intertwining their fingers. Geralt could claim that it was just to sell the affection, but they both knew it was to help ground Jaskier. Judging by the calmer heart rate, it was a successful attempt.

“Hm, yes, well. I didn’t say that.” Alfred muttered, taking a sip of his wine. “Though, I suppose we are.” He said, turning to address Geralt again. “You see, we had no idea how we were going to settle our little Julian down. It wasn’t easy trying to find someone who would tolerate him.”

Geralt’s resolution faltered, it was growing difficult to ignore the incredibly demeaning way that Alfred referred to Jaskier as though he weren’t there. Geralt opened his mouth just slightly to retort, but Jaskier interrupted him once more. “Yes,” Jaskier said, also looking at Geralt for a moment before turning to look at his father once more. “Well, I’ve never been fond of arranged marriages. Something about that whole- loss of free will for the remainder of my life, thing.” He said, smiling with a false charisma.

Geralt smirked just slightly.

Alfred did not. His charm slipped for a moment as his eyes shifted to Jaskier again. Even though he was addressing Jaskier directly and seemed rather angry, there was still this condescending boredom to his tone. “No, Julian, you’d much rather be free to make as many of the wrong decisions as you’d like to without a care for who you burden or those you hurt. A privilege had only by those who do not face the consequences of their actions and are too stupid to think things through for themselves.” He snapped. 

The insulting words were stated evenly, and then suddenly Alfred regained his composure and was once more the charming politician. He turned his attention to Geralt and sighed, shaking his head with a smile that would seem fond if it weren’t so cold. “If you ever come to your senses and wish to be relieved of him, simply say the word and we will restart our efforts to find him a more suitable arrangement for him.”

“That’s-” Jaskier started and then stopped himself. He shook his head and took a deep breath, trying to retain some semblance of diplomacy. He shifted subjects just slightly, “I go by Jaskier now, as you know, father. I’d prefer you refer to me as such.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, once again stabbing at his plate in an unbothered manner. “But that is a flower,” he scoffed.

Jaskier nodded curtly, “I’m aware.”

The intentional diversion of Alfred’s gaze remained as the man stared at the food in front of him as though it were far more important to him than respecting his son’s wishes. “So, it wasn’t enough to be-” He started and rolled his eyes, vaguely waving his fork towards Jaskier in a gesture that referred to all of Jaskier, “You also have to announce it to the world by labeling yourself in such a way?” 

Geralt bristled, but he felt Jaskier’s hand tighten in his. He kept himself together and stared at the table resolutely.

“It’s just a name.” Jaskier stated. “Not my entire identity.”

Alfred rolled his eyes, “Of course not, you’ve no idea who you are.” He agreed flippantly. “You wouldn’t be able to accurately label yourself even if you wanted to. That’s why you’ve attached yourself to someone so abrasive. I’m sure your witcher gives you plenty of orders to follow and a clear role to play. You only want the illusion of freedom, with someone else responsible for you so you never have to deal with the consequences of your actions. Clearly,  _ Julian _ , you are well aware that you could not do the right thing if your life depended on it. It’s obvious that in a second part, you have attached yourself to this mutant so that the blame of your actions is forced upon him simply by assumption. Clever almost. I can see why you utilize a relationship of such questionable nature.” Alfred looked up at Geralt and arched his brow, “But why  _ you  _ have allowed him to trail after you like a puppy, I have no idea. I don’t know how or why he benefits you, and I’m not sure I’d like to. I’m well aware of where his talents . . . lie.” Alfred remarked, sending a disgusted glance towards Jaskier once more. Then, finally, he set down his utensils and gave the pair his full attention. “I simply demand that you both stop with this ridiculous facade. Witcher’s are heartless creatures, of course you two aren’t married.” He stated simply.

“Excuse me?” Geralt breathed, speaking for the first time. 

Jaskier looked up at Geralt and shook his head, another silent plea. 

_ Just drop it _ . 

Though he reluctantly tore his gaze away from Geralt to scold his father, “You don’t know shit about witchers. Leave your unfounded accusations out of this. If you’d ever seen men like them fight for those who cannot fight for themselves you would eat your words.” Jaskier stated evenly. “Only to vomit them back up once more, for I realize you are rather stuck in your ways.” He huffed. 

Alfred opened his mouth to retort, the indifference leaving his expression completely this time. “You arrogant, selfish child-”

Jaskier would have to forgive him. Geralt released Jaskier’s hand, pushed himself up and looked down the length of the table, his expression the kind of calm fury that froze monsters in their tracks. “Sir Pankratz,” Geralt started. “I would like to thank you for allowing me into your home.” He said quietly. “But I would also like to let you know that witchers, the heartless mindless beasts that we are, can be rather- . . . uncouth when we are injured.” 

Clearly that wasn’t the direction Jaskier thought that Geralt would take this in, and Geralt could see Jaskier staring at him in slight concern and confusion. He pressed on. “You’ll have to pardon me for my temper, but I have to insist that you either choose to show your son,  _ Jaskier _ , a man I care very much for, a bit more respect? Or you should quite seriously consider shutting the fuck up.”

In all consideration, Alfred was silent for a few moments. With nothing to pretend to be interested in, Alfred had to face the demand head on. He stared at Geralt and then glanced at Jaskier. 

Geralt could have snarled, because it looked as though Alfred expected his son to defend him. 

Jaskier, however, was staring directly at Geralt, mouth agape and expression almost . . . gleeful? 

Alfred pushed himself to standing as well, though a bit slower than Geralt had. He looked at the witcher with disdain, “I trust you both can find your way out of my town. I suggest you do so quickly.” He snapped.

Geralt huffed an annoyed laugh, “Yeah, no shit.” The witcher finally looked back over to Jaskier, his expression a bit hesitant. In his defense, he didn’t say anything nearly as awful as he was thinking. Also, thus far, Alfred still had hands. “You ready to go?” He asked, giving Jaskier the clear opportunity to make whatever decision for himself that he’d like to. 

Jaskier smiled just slightly and nodded, “Sure am.” 

They headed towards Jaskier’s room and Geralt felt a slight warmth in his chest at the deafening silence that echoed behind them as they left the dining hall. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (this is not the end . . . I've got at least one more chapter outlined. Maybe a fourth? Idk, I'll keep you updated.)
> 
> Obviously, if you've read my stuff you know that here is where I tell you all to go listen to The Amazing Devil. They are splendid.   
> Also, if you enjoy their music, check out Robert Hallow and The Holy Men. Similarly incredible music and just a joy to listen to. (Plus he is a very kind person and super interactive with the people who love his music. <3 )


	3. Heading For The Gates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All they'd like to do is leave now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, remember when I was like: "This is a one shot, I'm not doing anything else!" 
> 
> And now we're three chapters in with at least a fourth chapter outlined?
> 
> Yeah.

Jaskier’s room seemed less safe now. Now that Geralt knew that it was transformed into such a comfortable place so that Jaskier never had to leave it? So that he could hide here safely and avoid facing his father for as long as he could? The open romanticism and the friendly structure turned into cavernous arches and a cage made of couches and lounging chairs. Comfortable, but a cell nonetheless. He started to understand why Jaskier was so fond of the establishments they stayed in on the road. No ties, the freedom to come and go as he pleased. 

They packed their things in a quiet that left Geralt slightly too vulnerable to his own thoughts. It hit him only as they had come back to grab their things that he had hurt Jaskier in twofold tonight. Geralt had both gone against a direct promise and made Jaskier even more unwelcome in his own home. He was certain that Jaskier would come to forgive him for being unable to hold his tongue, the bard was always so patient with matters of Geralt’s temper. However, Geralt had walked into a delicate situation and shattered more than one pillar on his way out. Jaskier likely understands, but it would still cause him strife in the future.

Geralt shifted and set the last of his clothes in his bag. “I’m- sorry,” He admitted quietly, looking across the room to where Jaskier was also pushing his things into his pack. 

Jaskier frowned and looked up, “What?”

With a heavy sigh, Geralt carefully sat on Jaskier’s bed like before. His knee still ached and though he didn’t want to travel on the leg, he wanted more to get out of here. The injury was not nearly as threatening as it had been before they arrived, and Geralt was certain that he could travel on it. They’d find somewhere else to heal now that the situation was no longer dire. “I told you I would leave him be.” He recollected. “And then I did not . . . I am . . . sorry.”

Apologies were still rather foreign to Geralt, but he was trying.

Jaskier joined Geralt on the bed and shook his head, “Don’t be.” He said gently. Taking a seat beside Geralt, they sat close. Their legs bumped into one another as Jaskier gave a slightly resigned shrug. It certainly wasn’t an ideal situation . . . but he didn’t hold it against Geralt. He smiled softly, slipping his hand into Geralt’s. “Well, you can be. If you’d like. But . . . you don’t need to be.” He clarified.

Geralt looked down at their hands and tightened his grip on Jaskier’s. They were not married, but neither one of them could deny what was between them. It had remained unspoken, hidden safe in the shadows of plausible deniability. Yet, they both knew it was there. Unlike so many of the shadow-lurking things in their lives, Geralt was not afraid of this anymore. He was still hesitant, still fearful of hurting Jaskier. Yet, he’d come to accept that his feelings were present, even when hidden, and that they were closer to the light than Jaskier may have even realized. 

“It was nice, actually.” Jaskier laughed quietly, “To hear someone stand up to him. Dangerous, and a bit risky, but nice.”

It was a fair sentiment, but Geralt still found something nagging at his mind. Something about the way that Jaskier spoke. The way he interacted with Alfred. It bothered Geralt to realize, “You never disagreed with him.” He muttered the statement quietly, trying to come across as curious rather than accusatory. Jaskier certainly didn’t need a lecture. “You tried to alter his words, but not his meanings.”

If Jaskier felt cornered he didn’t show this. Instead, Jaskier arched a brow, impressed by the observation. He smiled ever so slightly, “See? I knew that you listened to me when I spoke.” He teased lightly and then shrugged some. He gently let go of Geralt’s hand and stood again. He picked Geralt’s bag up, and set it near the door before going back over to his own things to make certain that he had everything packed.

Geralt was more perturbed by the dismissal. “When men criticise me,” He started, considering his words carefully. “When they accuse the nature of my existence or show disdain towards who I am . . . You always tell them that they are wrong.” Geralt said thoughtfully. “In no uncertain terms, you stand up for me.” Jaskier was often the first person to tell someone to fuck off if they were treating Geralt with any sort of judgement or scorn. In fact, “Sometimes you are even a bit too aggressive about it.” Geralt admitted, recalling a particularly nasty incident involving a bartender, a broken glass, and a toothpick.

“Well, yes,” Jaskier laughed, probably thinking of the same incident. “Obviously. Why wouldn’t I? They spout such boring and offensive lies-” Jaskie hummed, folding a shirt and shoving it into one of his bags. 

Geralt was not oblivious to the slight hesitation in Jaskier’s neutrality. He knew the bard regretted his choice of words the moment they came out of his mouth. Still, Geralt huffed and nodded, “As was your father.” Geralt stated it simply and regarded Jaskier carefully, “Obviously.” He pressed.

Jaskier hummed and shrugged in a noncommittal manner. 

“Jask.” Geralt pressed again.

“Hmm?” 

And suddenly Geralt understood why that was so annoying. Still, he persisted. “Your father was obviously not telling the truth.” Geralt explained again, frowning as he saw the tension in Jaskier’s shoulders only grow worse.

“Well, he certainly wasn’t being kind about it,” Jaskier laughed and set his bags next to Geralt’s near the door. He looked a bit caught at the realization that he no longer had something to do to keep himself busy. He glanced around the room, seemingly looking for something to replace the distraction. Finding nothing he pushed up a far less sincere smile than before, and looked to Geralt. “You ready to go?” He asked. 

Geralt shook his head sternly, “No.”

“I- Well,” Jaskier’s trapped disposition grew more contrite as he stuttered at the outright refusal. Geralt was often quite stubborn, but he wasn’t dumb. “I can’t imagine we’ll have much choice soon.” He admitted, trying to reason with the witcher. “We should probably head out,” Jaskier nodded towards the door. 

However, Geralt was having none of that. He stayed still where he was seated. “Jaskier,” Geralt repeated.

Jaskier’s eyes shifted back up, and he relented just slightly, looking at Geralt. Still, he huffed, seeming just slightly exasperated. “Don’t.” He breathed. 

But, hell if Geralt wouldn’t. “Do you believe those things that your father said?” Geralt asked gently, still seated on the bed. Did Jaskier truly doubt himself so much that he heard what Alfred said as fact instead of opinion. Did Jaskier feel as though he was not his own person, or as though he was, in fact, a burden? Gods forbid that Jaskier might feel as though there was something shameful about his inclinations and romantic preferences. “Do you really believe he was speaking the truth?”

The way the bard flinched just slightly at the simply stated questions, as though they were harshly snapped accusations, was answer enough. 

Jaskier reached for the door. “We should really be going,” he insisted.

Geralt grabbed the bedframe and stood, “No.” 

Once more, Jaskier almost gawked at the refusal. “No?”

“No,” Geralt repeated. “I refuse to allow the only thing you ever hear in this home to be that you are somehow undesirable and reliant.” It was not particularly in his skill set to provide accommodating reassurance and comfort for others. However, Geralt would certainly try. This mattered too much not to. “Jaskier, your company is not unwanted.” Geralt said simply. “You may still be discovering yourself, but that is a good thing. You are entirely your own person, with your own convictions and one hell of a personality. Who you are now is already incredible, and who you will be? A man I cannot wait to meet.” Geralt said. He sought out more words, better ones. A metaphor that Jaskier would truly be able to resonate with or something of the likes. 

In the temporary silence, Jaskier lowered his eyes ever so slightly and shook his head. “I- You don’t- It’s sweet- You’re sweet . . . but you don’t have to boost my ego. I can handle a couple of insults from my father.” He promised. He didn’t wish to discourage Geralt’s growth, but these were statements he wasn’t sure how to receive. 

Geralt nodded, “I know.” He agreed. “I know that you have lived among that cruelty and become a kind, motivated, and intelligent man in spite of it. However, if you need the reminder- or if you need to be convinced that you are not any of those things? That you are . . . ” Geralt’s eyes dropped to the floor as he tried to grasp that poetic language Jaskier used so often, “You’re not a part of- er- That you’re your own . . . flower- rather than . . . a part of his- family tree- Not a branch of ugly wood- but-”

“You said you cared very much for me,” Jaskier said quietly, interrupting Geralt’s slowly deteriorating metaphor. (A small grace for both of them, to be completely fair, but an interruption nonetheless.)

An interruption that had Geralt hesitating. He had to nod and agree, however, it was important to note that, “You are not going to change the subject.” He muttered, looking back up at Jaskier. “I- yeah. I didn’t lie. But more to my point-”

Jaskier shook his head and matched Gearlt’s gaze with a small smile. “The moment you stated that out loud I knew that you didn’t see me the same way he does,” he explained. “You don’t . . . have to try so hard now. I- already know.” He promised.

Another small mercy, allowing Geralt to shut up then. He felt unable to do much more than nod. 

Still, Jaskier’s smile stayed hesitant for a moment as he admitted, “I think I know somewhere in my head, that he is not right about me.” Jaskier took a deep breath, also searching for the right words. He, unlike Geralt, had to find the simplistic way to make his point. There was no dressing this up in fancy lyrics to hide the truth of it all. “I just- forget it sometimes,” he sighed. The young man shifted where he stood and seemed, for a moment, very much like the kid who grew up here stripped of walls composed by rhymes, bare of figurative speech to hide his sentiments. Jaskier shrugged simply and admitted, “Sometimes I still want him to think something else, you know?” 

That, at least, Geralt could understand. 

Jaskier sighed, “But yes, it also helps to hear it from you.” He laughed in a slightly embarrassed manner. “Just- to know that I’ve not pushed my presence on you in a completely intolerable way,” he chuckled. “To know that you . . . like having me around . . . Again, something I think I know? Somewhere. I just . . . forget occasionally.”

Geralt stared at Jaskier for a moment and then held his hand out.

Jaskier glanced at the outstretched reach and tilted his head, “What do you need-?” He asked, stepping forward some. 

“For you to come here,” Geralt said simply.

“Yes-? Why?” Jaskier inquired in confusion, though he walked up to Geralt as requested. 

Geralt reached out and caught Jaskier’s waist, pulling him slightly closer. Geralt’s grip remained light, giving Jaskier the room to move away if he needed or wanted to. “Because if I walked over to you, you would lecture me about putting too much strain on my leg. However, I wanted to make a point and I need you closer in order to do that.” He explained. “I am shit with words,” He admitted. For a moment, Geralt’s eyes flicked down to Jaskier’s lips. “And I would like to show you just how much I enjoy your company.” 

There was a weight behind the request that was well understood by both parties. Geralt was asking if he could bring it to light, this secret thing between them. He was asking if he could step towards something that they’d left at a distance intentionally. If he could pull his feelings from the shadows they’d been hidden in and show them to Jaskier in the light of day. If he could do the same for Jaskier’s sentiments. 

Jaskier nodded.

Geralt leaned against the bed frame so that he could use his free hand to gently hold Jaskier’s jaw. Not much tilting needed to happen as they were very similar heights, but Geralt gently pulled Jaskier the slightest bit closer before leaning forward and gently pressing a kiss to Jaskier’s lips. 

Jaskier’s hands found purchase in the fabric of Geralt’s ridiculous shirt, holding tightly onto Geralt’s sides. He moved himself even closer so that Geralt could still lean against the frame without having to strain forward to meet Jaskier. 

The movement was small, and appreciated. Slowly, Geralt pulled back and looked up at his bard. There was a small smile spreading over his own face that matched the one on Jaskier’s. Geralt ran his thumb over Jaskier’s lips. “I promise to show you more of how I feel when I am healed and we are not . . . here.” He said with the faintest of laughs, as he moved his hand from Jaskier’s hip to gesture around Jaskier’s room. Perhaps in some circumstances it would be romantic to expand on such a proclamation in one’s childhood bedroom. 

These were most certainly not those circumstances.

Jaskier laughed softly, and it was a sound that rang more beautifully in Geralt’s ears than even Jaskier’s singing. The bard smiled gently, and nodded. He was still a bit softer than usual, but he was slowly coming back into himself. “Hm, yeah, I would love to feel all the ways you enjoy my company.” He teased lightly, letting his eyes roam down to Geralt’s chest and then back up to Geralt’s eyes. “For now,” He said with a slight sparkle to his eyes, smoothing his hands out against Geralt’s ribs and just holding close to him for a moment, “We should be going.” He hummed.

Geralt nodded his agreement and carefully pushed himself to stand on his own. He really was healing well with all of the time and attention he’d received here. He certainly wasn’t back to normal, but he was confident that he could make it out of this estate and the town walking on his own. If they needed to camp nearby they could, but Jaskier’s small smile was enough to convince Geralt that they could make it to the next town and then some.

So they both shifted towards the door, and grabbed their bags. They spoke quietly, lightly, as they headed out towards the front entrance. Jaskier was patient with Geralt as he moved just slightly slower than usual. Though perhaps if Jaskier had been a bit more impatient things would have been a bit different. 

As it was, just as they were headed towards the front door, the pair were stopped. A few guards stood between them and the exit, preventing them from leaving. Jaskier rolled his eyes and shook his head, “He told us to leave, that’s what we’re doing.” He huffed, impatient with the men. He’d grown up here, this was a staff that had complied in the suppression and mistreatment of both Jaskier and his sister. Jaskier hardly felt a whole lot of fondness towards any of the guards. 

“I changed my mind.” Came the cold ugly voice from behind them. “A privilege someone in my position of power has. I’m aware no one has ever relied on you to give the orders, but these men listen to me, and I asked them to stop you.”

Geralt tensed at the vaguely threatening admission and he glanced at Jaskier carefully. Once again, as it seemed was a custom this evening, Jaskier gave Geralt a short shake of his head, silently requesting that Geralt stand down. Geralt wanted desperately to listen to him, but this situation was not likely to play out in their favor. Every instinct in him screamed to deck Alfred, grab Jaskier and leave . . . Still, Geralt gave Jaskier the opportunity to smooth it over. 

Jaskier certainly tried, “You’re right. You’re in a rather demanding position,” He agreed. “And we needn’t make it any more trying. I will leave and you know what, I will do you the favor of staying gone.” He promised. 

Alfred laughed coldly and shook his head.

Geralt started to step forward, but Jaskier grabbed his arm to stop him. He persisted, “I won’t visit. I won’t write. I will walk out of town and I will not come back.” Jaskier made these promises well aware of the loss he would endure if he were no longer able to come see his sister. He knew that she’d be okay. She had plans for how to get out of here for longer than Jaskier even had. He’d left on impulse, but she was clever. She was going to escape. (And if she didn’t? Well, promises were made to be broken, now weren’t they.)

Alfred shook his head, “You truly are an idiot.” He snapped coldly, halting Jaskier in his assurances. 

“What purpose will I serve staying here-” Jaskier said, trying for a shift in tactics.

Alfred stepped forward with a slight sway and huffed. “The purpose you should have served in the first place. You are too stupid to be held responsible for anything that matters. So I will find a family who will deal with you and you’ll be the mindless pawn you’re meant to be. I don’t give a damn if you are their personal concubine, you’ll be away from that beast and I won’aft to deal with you!” He snapped, his words turning sluggish towards the end of his ranting. 

Jaskier’s brow furrowed and he seemed to regard Alfred with a new sort of suspicion. Looking at his father as though he was trying to see something in specific. “It would hardly be worth your trouble. Come now, I’m asking you to be logical, taking myself off your hands-” Jaskier assured softly. 

Alfred waved his hand dismissively, taking another step forward and stumbling just slightly as he did so. 

Suddenly there was a tension in Jaskier’s body that Geralt was not used to. A type of rigidity that Geralt hadn’t ever seen before. “Father,” Jaskier said quietly, “I think perhaps you had a bit more wine at dinner than was wise.” Jaskier spoke like one might speak to a rabid dog, shifting and stepping forward. 

Geralt felt rather uneasy letting Jaskier do so, but his attention was dragged to the guards around them who all collectively stepped forward as though they’d need to stop Jaskier at any moment.

He shouldn’t have allowed himself to get distracted.

In a split second Alfred stepped forward and landed a sharp smack across Jaskier’s cheek. The crack was accompanied by a bellowing “How dare you!” and a soft whimper from Jaskier. The bard did not cower or whine, but he certainly felt his face heat and tears spring forward at the burning sensation on his cheek.

Geralt’s attention snapped forward once more and this time no calming words or silent requests could stop him. Geralt’s hand reached out and wrapped itself tightly around Alfred’s neck. He didn’t even feel the pain in his knee as he stepped forward and lifted Alfred up. He felt the man’s weak hands grasp pathetically at his wrist, trying to alleviate the pressure from his neck as Alfred’s feet left the ground. Geralt realized that he was growling and baring his teeth, only proving the ideal that he was an animal. He couldn’t care less. His hand only tightened and he only lifted Alfred higher from the ground.

Alfred sputtered and gasped, muttering a furious “Get off of me you- brute-!” His voice was barely there, the air finding it too difficult to escape the passage of Alfred’s throat that Geralt was constricting mercilessly.

Geralt did not let go. Didn’t even consider it. 

Alfred beat at Geralt’s arm, still angry and swearing breathlessly despite being suspended a foot off of the ground. His eyes, starting to bulge in their sockets, turned to Jaskier. “Do- something-!” He demanded.

Jaskier was silent. His own hand was holding his cheek and he was looking on at them in shock. The tears had not fallen yet, instead there was a soft of numbness in his expression. He recognized that Geralt was well able to do with Alfred what he pleased, but when Jaskier saw Geralt looked over at him it was clear that this decision was entirely up to Jaskier. Even the guards didn’t know what to do. A step forward and Geralt could snap this man’s neck. At this point, only Jaskier had the power to save his father’s life. 

A large part of Geralt was hoping Jaskier wouldn’t. 

But Jaskier was a better man than any of the others in that room. He gently removed his hand from his cheek and took a deep breath, composing himself. He reached out and set his hand on Geralt’s shoulder, a firm answer to Geralt’s unspoken question. 

An answer Geralt didn’t agree with in the slightest. However, despite the urges in Geralt’s every breath, the witcher lowered Alfred back to the ground. He glowered at the man, and did not let go of his neck even after both of Alfred’s feet were on the ground. Even so, there was this look of- smug pride in Alfred’s eyes that Geralt simply wouldn’t have. Geralt stepped forward and whispered something in Alfred’s ear before shoving him back and turning slightly to Jaskier.

The viscount’s eyes grew wide once more as he stumbled back. The superior smirk turned once again to anger and Geralt could only think how hypocritical it was that this man spoke to  _ Jaskier _ like Jaskier was the idiot. A thought only further proven by the way Alfred, still gasping for air, sputtered and stupidly swung his fist forward. 

Geralt caught and snapped it.

Even Jaskier gasped softly at the brute display of strength. Geralt was still remiss to give two fucks, even as Alfred fell to his knees and clutched his broken wrist to his chest. He glared at Jaskier and all but spat at him, “Get’im outta here!” Alfred slurred, drunk not only off of his wine but off of a dangerous mixture of pain and adrenaline. “ ‘ow dare y’bring such a violent- ugly- mindless- stupid- fowl- beast! Bring a beast! ‘nto this’ome! Get’m out!” He snarled.

It was pathetic.

Absolutely pitiful watching Alfred try to display some sort of control over the situation at this point. Geralt knew that Alfred was trying to save face in front of his guards, but at this point? Nothing would convince them to see him as anything but what he had proven himself to be. A disgusting, hateful, weak, old drunk. 

Geralt turned and held his hand out for Jaskier’s, once again giving Jaskier the freedom to make whatever choice he wanted to. 

Jaskier took his hand, and they walked out of the room in silence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still don't know what I'm doing with the tags, please let me know if I've missed anything. If I stick with my new outline this thing is probably far from over? But I might move some things around who knows. We're making this shit up as we go along. If things are wrong it's on me. I'm just bad at writing and don't have a beta. <3


	4. Chased By Hellish Hounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The route out of hell is certainly a perilous one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm so sorry this took so long.)  
> Okay. So this has like. Hella grown. I've got three more chapters planned, and that hasn't taken me to the end yet? So though it's slow going (again, I'm so sorry) there is more to come. For those of you who only signed up for a one shot, I'm sorry.   
> (Things have shifted please feel free to tell me tags I need to add!)

Well. 

Technically they did walk out in silence. Though it didn’t stay that way for long. As the door shut, Alfred’s noises of distress only grew louder. It seemed as though rather quickly the guards got their wits about them and the sound of Alfred’s whines and whimpers spurred them into movement. What had been a collectively stunned silence turned into the clamoring of men composing themselves and all trying to follow Geralt and Jaskier out of the front door. Jaskier threw a glance over at Geralt and then continued the toss over his shoulder to the doors opening behind them. Walking turned to running as the sound of footsteps and clanging armor filled that aforementioned silence behind them. 

The pair of men were chased from the manor steps, and into the streets of Lettenhove. Geralt’s knee was still hurt, but the day to rest had made a reasonable difference and he was able to move on it as he’d hoped. 

Jaskier took the lead, navigating them away from the large home and down the street passed the market and a bustling tavern. Jaskier dodged street vendors with a practiced ease, and though Geralt was a bit more clumsy than usual he managed to keep up for the most part. Jaskier even seemed to start enjoying the run. There was a bit more jump to his gait as he ran, trying to show Geralt the easiest way to get out. As well as, Geralt couldn’t help but notice the tiny smile on Jaskier’s face as he pointed and laughed at the front door of a small business. “Hey-!” Jaskier yelled. He didn’t stop running but Geralt laughed breathlessly at the causing fondness and familiarity in the greeting. Like the store was an old friend Jaskier wished he could stop and chat with. 

That would likely be a story for later, Geralt was sure. Jaskier was sure to open up about all the sights they were passing and tell Geralt stories of the buildings and streets. This wasn’t quite how Geralt imagined he would be shown the lay of Jaskier’s hometown, but it did seem rather fitting to the type of trouble the two of them got into. Geralt made a mental note to try and take in as much of the city as he could even as they tried to get out of it. 

Still, though adrenaline was one hell of a drug, the longer they ducked and doged, the more Geralt felt as though his knee would give out. Graceful leaps turned into stumbled landings and Geralt’s slightly fond smile turned into a bit of a wince. He felt himself starting to slow as Jaskier took them down a sharp turn down an alley. He tried to follow with the same agility, but a sharp twinge shot up his thigh and he lost his balance. Running slightly too wide a turn, Geralt stumbled and shouldered the wall. He tried to continue, but he knew he was only slowing Jaskier down. He could manage himself, if trouble caught up to him he could still fight. However, if the guards caught up to Jaskier there was only so much that Geralt could do to protect the bard. 

He knew that Jaskier was capable of defending himself, he’d witnessed the man’s skill with sharp objects, but it wasn’t a circumstance he wanted to replicate right now. “Jask,” Geralt breathed quietly as he slowed to a stop and rested his hands on his knee. He squeezed gently, putting light pressure on the injured one to try and stop the throbbing pain. He urged Jaskier to go on, “Get yourself out of town and whistle for Roach. Wait for me out in the forest nearby,” Geralt demanded, promising that he’d catch up.

A promise Jaskier was having none of. He scoffed and began to rant breathlessly as Geralt leaned against one of the walls. “Really, Geralt, I promise we’ll be right outside of town in just a- . . . ”

A what? Geralt wouldn’t know, because suddenly Jaskier was silent. 

It was annoying to be left hanging like that, but Geralt just grit his teeth and nodded, “Alright,” He promised. “I’m coming.” He pushed himself off the wall, and turned to continue down the alley. 

Only, when he turned to Jaskier once more his eyes were immediately pulled to the blossoming red stain on Jaskier’s stomach . . . And the one leaking from his shoulder . . . And the glint of the blade lodged in Jaskier’s hand . . . Geralt stared at him numbly for the briefest of moments. Blood was familiar. Knives were familiar. So familiar, in fact, that it took Geralt a second to process why his mind took in this scene and screamed  _ wrong! _

Then there was a soft curse whispered from behind him. It sounded more exasperated than truly concerned and Geralt whipped his head around. 

Apparently at least one of the guards, a young man with deep auburn hair, knew these streets as well as Jaskier did. Whatever quick route they’d taken, this boy had kept up with. In some distant part of his mind, Geralt was almost impressed that anyone had managed to keep up with the way Jaskier raced through these streets as though they were the halls of his family’s manor. Yet, this boy had stayed right behind them and the second they’d stopped moving he had taken his chance to halt them in a longer lasting manner. 

Geralt looked back at Jaskier, who was using his uninjured hand to hold the knife that had been thrown with the utmost skill directly into his stomach. Jaskier stared down at his stomach with the same sort of numb confusion that Geralt had displayed. As though he too recognized all of these circumstances but couldn’t quite figure out why he was in so much pain.

Geralt turned back to the guard. Just a kid. Young and vibrant and so reminiscent of the kind of boy Jaskier used to be. He turned back and stared at this boy . . . who was smiling.

“Oops,” The boy said unapologetically. He glanced past Geralt at Jaskier and then shrugged ever so slightly. “If it’s any consolation I was aiming for you.” He teased. His smirk only grew as he hummed a smug, “Your choice-!” Before taking off in the opposite direction back out of the alley. He seemed far more concerned with saving his own neck than with finishing his job. So, Geralt supposed, not too much like who Jaskier used to be. 

Still, it took Geralt a moment to realize what exactly his choice was. When he did, his stomach turned. He could either get to Jaskier and get him out of here, or go after that boy. If he went to catch the guard he would likely lose the chance to get Jaskier to safety. In Geralt’s pursuit Jaskier’s injuries could overtake him, or more guards could find him. Either way he’d be taken from Geralt in a way Geralt wasn’t sure he’d be able to retrieve Jaskier from. Yet, if he took Jaskier that boy would likely not face the consequences of his actions. If anything, knowing his employer, Geralt was inclined to believe that he would be rewarded for his violence even if his target was missed. The very thought made Geralt wish that he’d done more to Alfred than scare him a bit. 

It was a difficult decision to make, and yet? Geralt had already decided. Jaskier’s health was more important than any kind of revenge or violent satisfaction, and if Alfred rewarded that boy for trying to kill his own son? Well . . . Geralt would have to find contentment in the knowledge that Geralt at the very least, prioritized Jaskier’s safety. 

So, Geralt pulled a potion from his belt, Maribor Forest, and downed it. He immediately felt the boost of adrenaline, grabbing a second and debating for a moment. It would do neither of them if he pushed himself to a level of toxicity he couldn’t recover from. A whole dose was too dangerous. So, he decided in favor of drinking just a sip of Tawny Owl before walking over to Jaskier. Very carefully, Geralt stoob beside Jaskier, slipping one of his arms under both of Jaskier’s arms and around his back, and his other arm under Jaskier’s knees. Geralt was a bit abuzz with the alchemical help, yet he had to notice that it was somewhat amazing that Jaskier was still standing, to be completely honest. 

Jaskier groaned and his hand wrapped carefully around the hilt of the knife. 

Geralt growled quietly as he started off down the path Jaskier had been indicating. “Don’t you fucking dare pull that out,” he said, his voice quiet and hoarse. He kept his eyes peeled, carefully glancing behind them towards the opening of the alley they had come down through. He had to move slower than he would have liked, both to accommodate his injury and to try not to jostle Jaskier with the unsteady gait his limp was causing. 

The faint laugh that escaped Jaskier’s lips sent Gearlt’s heart soaring. He had just the tiniest bit of hope as the bard shook his head. “Wasn’t gonna do that,” Jaskier assured. “Good, yeah, no. Wasn’t gonna- I was just holding it in place.” 

Jaskier could still form coherent sentences, for the most part. That was good. Geralt kept half of his attention on listening for approaching footsteps and the other half listening to Jaskier’s breathing. Not too shallow, but definitely labored, and it definitely hitched if Geralt took too large a step. Geralt glanced down and noticed how Jaskier’s knuckles were white with how tightly he was holding the knife, trying to steady it. “Okay, good,” he breathed. If Jaskier tugged any of the knives out he was sure to start bleeding profusely and it would lessen the amount of time that Geralt had to get Jaskier to safety. However, Geralt knew that every time Jaskier shifted the blades were pushing deeper into him, cutting through the edges of the severed skin which they’d punctured.

Jaskier chuckled breathlessly once more and added, “See . . . my ride . . . rather bumpy. Hurts. Y’know? Y’d think . . . after so long being taught by the best . . . You’d be able to trot as smoothly as Roach.” He hummed.

Still coherent sentences, but certainly slowing down. Jaskier’s words were growing slurred and Geralt wasn’t certain it was pain, or Jaskier losing consciousness. Geralt couldn’t condemn him for a lack of articulation in the face of the pain he must have been in, but he was certainly worried about the idea of Jaskier fainting. “I’m not a horse,” Geralt huffed quietly (not entirely unlike a horse might). He heard many more footsteps running past and he shifted them carefully. Geralt moved out from the middle of the alley, stepping into a doorway to hide as another several guards ran past the front entrance of the alley. 

One of them stopped to look down the road, and Geralt couldn’t help but hold his breath. They needed to keep moving. Jaskier’s wounds needed to be addressed as soon as possible. Yet, if the other guards were dragged down here and Geralt were needing to run to escape them he might both injure Jaskier further and lack the speed he needed to get away. He looked at Jaskier, a look that silently requested  _ Don’t make a noise _ . A message Jaskier received and listened to. 

Hope was nearly lost as Geralt listened intently and heard the guard start to take a step down the alleyway . . . But then he was called upon by the others. Geralt realized then, that the red headed boy was a bit of an anomaly and most of the other guards would not be near as efficient in tracking them down or following them out. 

When the guards had moved on, Jaskier coughed another small laugh. “No, yeah. No, y’re not,” Jaskier agreed. “Not a horse,” he clarified, knowing that Geralt had likely forgotten what they were speaking about in the tension. Though he grinned and let go of the knife in his gut, reaching up as though he was going to boop Geralt’s nose before Geralt took a gentle step out of the doorway and Jaskier clutched the knife again with a grimace. There were a few tense moments of pain on Jaskier’s face, before he fought to push back up that grin from before and add a snarky: “Just built like one.” And though now was not the time to be suggestive, the look on Jaskier’s face sure as hell wasn’t innocent. 

With a roll of his eyes Geralt continued, carrying Jaskier out from the alley towards the forestry on the outskirts of town. Though the guards were still wreaking havoc on the town, they didn’t near them again. Still, Geralt didn’t stop moving until they were well into the woods. 

XXX

“Stay awake.” Geralt said gently as he leaned over, cautiously depositing Jaskier onto the ground. He’d found them as smooth a clearing he could that was not too open. It was often difficult to find a place with trees to hide among, but no roots popping up in the ground. However, Geralt was unwilling to risk settling them in a clearing any bigger than necessary. 

Then, Geralt had whistled for Roach when they’d made it to the woods, and like she always seemed to, she appeared at his side and walked with them. Geralt was thankful that her observant ears would also pick up threats, and though there wasn’t much help she could provide in regards to fighting, she would certainly be able to notify Geralt of any threat. Oftentimes, notification when he was distracted was helpful enough to ensure safety. Now, she stood with the bags a little ways away from them, seemingly watching them. 

Jaskier, for his part, did not cry out when he was set down. Instead, he grunted quietly and slouched against the bedroll that Geralt had slipped behind him. “Can’t,” Jaskier breathed. Though he seemed to be trying to accommodate Geralt’s request, his eyes were closed as he spoke. “Too tired.”

Geralt nodded ever so slightly and tried to assess the best way to deal with these injuries. “I know,” He mumbled before gently resting a hand against Jaskier’s cheek. “But stay awake,” He repeated. He was well aware that Jaskier would have given him shit for his ineloquence if Jaskier were any more awake than he was.

However, rather than gripe at Geralt for his less than sensitive wording  _ It’s all about bedside manners, Geralt! _ Jaskier’s mind fixated on just how badly he wanted a nap. “Think I have the right to be tired,” Jaskier argued, though he cracked an eye open and looked over at Geralt carefully. 

Geralt couldn't help the tiny fond smile that pulled at his lips. Stubborn in the face of potentially fatal injuries, Geralt couldn’t help the flutter of admiration that grew in his chest as he looked down at Jaskier. He nodded understandingly. “You do,” he agreed.

“Lot’s have happened these last few days,” Jaskier said, his eye closing again as his head leaned into Geralt’s hand. 

“Hmm,” he hummed his acknowledgement.

“You almost died,” Jaskier listed. 

Geralt could just imagine the way that Jaskier would have lifted his hand and started counting it off on his fingers if he could. Regardless, Geralt nodded, “I did.”

“Dragged you to my dad’s house,” the bard continued.

“You did.”

Jaskier huffed a broken laugh, “You almost killed him.”

Geralt would have had the decency to look apologetic about that if there were any part of him that was sorry. Instead, despite the fact that Jaskier’s eyes were still closed, Geralt glowered slightly. “Wanted to,” He admitted.

Jaskier nodded. “He kicked us out of his house,” he recalled.

“Well, kind of,” Geralt mumbled. Again, technicalities. 

“I almost died,” Jaskier breathed quietly.

And Geralt’s throat caught a bit. There was no witty retort to that observation. Especially not when there were still three knives buried in Jaskier and Geralt was thoroughly uncertain how to proceed. He managed to push out a quiet, “Hmm.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Jaskier said knowingly. “We haven’t really cleared that hurdle yet.”

The implication, Geralt knew, was that Jaskier wasn’t confident that they’d be clearing this hurdle at all, and he didn’t want to hear that. “Jaskier?” 

“Hm, Yes?”

Geralt gently tapped Jaskier’s cheek with his thumb, prompting the man to open his eyes and see the rag that Geralt had held out to him. “Bite down on this,” Geralt said quietly. 

Jaskier regarded the rag with slight disgust and shook his head some. “Why?” He huffed, looking about as put out as someone who had just been stabbed thrice could look over something that wasn’t one of the blades lodged inside of him. “Thought you wanted me to stay awake, ‘m only talking to keep myself awake,” Jaskier continued. “Are you actually silencing me with malicious intent? I knew y-mmph-”

The ranting was cut short by Geralt shoving the rag into Jaskier’s mouth and rolling his eyes slightly at the resulting glare he received. Once again, Geralt knew there would be griping to come about how Geralt’s ability to perform medical assistance was undermined by his less than supportive demeanor. However, he was worried about treating the injuries in a timely manner more than he was worried about Jaskier’s feelings. (And if he was admittedly worried about both, he didn’t have the time to think about that now.)

Instead, he carefully grabbed the hilts of both the knife in Jaskier’s shoulder and the one in his hand. With little warning, he yanked them upwards. They came out smoothly as Geralt was well practiced in removing weapons from flesh. 

Still . . . 

It wasn’t pleasant at all. Though Geralt didn’t wince in sympathy as he pulled the knives from Jaskier’s shoulder and hand, it was only because he didn’t really need to. The noise that came from Jaskier was painful enough for the both of them. Geralt knew that he needed to focus on his task, but it was difficult not to stop to sooth Jaskier.

“Breathe,” Geralt reminded hoarsely. 

Jaskier spit out the gag and tried to listen to that advice, but his breathing had only grown more labored than before. “Fuck,” He swore. 

Almost immediately the bard tried to flex his fingers, a move that Geralt had to gently stop. He carefully caught Jaskier’s wrist and though it covered his hand in Jaskier’s blood, Geralt held it firmly. He shook his head slightly and Jaskier closed his eyes again, nodding his understanding. If the pain hadn’t been enough to stop Jaskier from trying again, the look Geralt gave him spoke volumes. The knife had gone in horizontally in relation to Jaskier’s wrist. Truthfully, Geralt was worried about the damage it had done. In order to push through like that it would have had to break many of the little bones throughout the palm. Geralt saw the slight movement in Jaskier’s fingers before he’d been stopped, but he was not optimistic that Jaskier would regain the dexterity he once had. The dexterity he needed. 

Geralt carefully picked up the rag from Jaskier’s lap, setting it off to the side. He would need to put it back in a few moments to remove that last knife, but Geralt would leave it discarded for the time being to give the bard time to breathe as Geralt bandaged up the lesser two of the three wounds. Geralt used a clean rag to very gently wipe away most of the blood and some of the water from their waterskins to rinse off the rest of it. He patted the areas dry and gently wrapped up Jaskier’s shoulder before repeating the process with Jaskier’s hand. 

By this point, tears were running freely down Jaskier’s face. His brow was pinched in a consistent worry and his eyes were still squeezed shut, yet he tried to offer Geralt a small smile. “This last one staying here?” He asked, nodding down to his abdomen and opening his eyes again to glance at the blade. “ ‘ll have to adjust my general attire. Been a fan of highwaisted, but if I’m operating around-”

“I’m going to take it out,” Geralt promised.

Jaskier nodded slowly, “Oh.” It would seem that as much as he wanted it pulled out of him, Jaskier couldn’t ignore the pain that he was bound to endure if they did. It was certainly the longest of the three knives and would likely be the most painful. Though, if truth was to be completely told, Jaskier wasn’t entirely certain that he could be in any much more pain. 

They fell silent for a bit while Geralt continued to work, his fingers were gentle and soothing in a manner he never treated himself with when bandaging his own wounds. The intricate nature of bandaging Jaskier’s hand in a stable manner required it, however, and Geralt couldn’t stand to make this any worse for the man. 

Jaskier’s breathing grew more shallow as the aforementioned pain truly started to bleed through the rush and shock that had been numbing him. What had felt badly before was becoming agonizing. What had been present and painful but tolerable, was now damn near all consuming. 

Geralt hesitated after he finished wrapping up Jaskier’s hand, looking at the mess on Jaskier’s stomach. He gently grasped the wrist of the hand holding onto the knife. It was a silent instruction that when Jaskier was ready, Geralt needed him to let go and move his hand. “This is going to hurt.” He said quietly, an unnecessary warning, but a warning nonetheless. Geralt received another one of those quiet broken laughs, as Jaskier very slowly removed his hand and dug his fingers into the soft ground beneath him.

“Everything hurts, love,” Jaskier admitted quietly. “But, I can handle it.” He promised. 

Geralt nodded, “Okay,” he whispered. 

“But-” Jaskier started quietly. “If I can’t . . .”

Immediately Geralt shook his head. He was not going to have that conversation with Jaskier. He absolutely would not listen to Jaskier whisper some broken goodbye, just in case. “I’m going to put this rag back in your mouth,” He said.

Jaskier huffed a quiet laugh. “Hey. Stop that. I’m not- I won’t- I just wanted to thank you again.”

“You’ve already done that,” Geralt retorted, unable to bring himself to actually muffle Jaskier this time, despite not wanting to hear this. 

“I know,” Jaskier breathed. He closed his eyes and nodded again, but whispered quietly, “But I wanted to again.” Jaskier took a deep breath, and thought it was shaky; it allowed him to get his whole sentence out in one go. “Not just for telling me I deserve love.”  _ Thank you for telling me that you love me, _ Jaskier was saying.

_ Before it was too late. _ Geralt’s mind finished silently. He shook his head. “You can handle this. Alright? And then you can thank me as often as you’d like.” Yet another silent promise.  _ Survive this and I will tell you I love you every fucking day. _

“We’ve just got to get this over with.” Jaskier conceded, voice hoarse. 

And so they got it over with. 

Almost an hour later, after many curses, nonstop tears, and the softest bandaging Geralt had ever done Jaskier was cleaned, wrapped up and given a very diluted dosage of Tawny Owl. Geralt had started a fire and Jaskier was sitting propped up against a tree while the witcher prepared an easy meal for them to try and eat. Jaskier’s head was resting against the bark and his eyes were closed, but Geralt was listening carefully to make certain that Jaskier didn’t fall into a deep sleep before drinking some water and hopefully getting down some of this food. 

It was hard not to let his mind wander as he prepared their food. Geralt knew very well the seriousness of their situation. How badly they needed to get to the next flourish of civilization. Jaskier needed to be tended to. These were not injuries that Geralt could fix, they’d need to find a mage or a very skilled healer.

Even then . . . Geralt wasn’t sure about Jaskier’s hand. 

All he knew for certain was that they needed to find help for Jaskier.

And then Geralt was making a return trip to Lettenhove. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My constant demanding my readers to go listen to The Amazing Devil has gotten at least One Person to find the band? Which means that ye. I will keep telling you all to go listen to them.   
> Also, Robert Hallow! Please give him love. His music is phenomenal!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, (as always, check out The Amazing Devil, they're incredible) and I hope you've had a great day!


End file.
